I dislike January.
A dreadful month for several reasons, though none more aggravating than this.
Mikey stops drinking on January 1st every year.
He calls it the Noah’s Ark diet and got the idea from our friend Frank.
40 days and 40 nights… no drinky-poo’s.
His New Year’s Eve birthday wraps up a 2 month holiday season of excessive eating and drinking, and then he abruptly stops.
Mike doesn’t do it because he has to, or even because he wants to.
He does it just to make sure he can!
Not a bad idea…
Unless you live with him.
We were at a party last weekend and I actually overheard someone say “You’re an asshole when you don’t drink”.
Hmmmm… no one ever says that to me.
This year, in the spirit of solidarity, I too have given up the hooch.
Although only for the month of January.
31 days is plenty in my book.
I’m halfway home; it’s day seventeen.
A snowy Saturday evening here, we’re hunkered down after a great meal.
But something is missing…
The simple enjoyment of a nice dry red.
Man do I love February.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
One Dumb Bird
I ran to the store this afternoon. Like most of the country we’re in single digit temperatures and that’s before figuring in the wind chill factor….Brrrrrr!
A big pot of White Chili seemed just the thing to warm our bodies and feed our souls.
It’s a simple recipe; I typically have everything in the pantry other than the chicken. A few small skinless, boneless breasts were all I was after.
Now granted, to hear Mikey tell it, I would rather have a tooth extracted without anesthesia than go to the grocery store. I’ve been known to break out in hives over the mere anticipation of going. Why is it by the way, that if you are all dressed, hair done, make-up on… you see no one? But the moment you run in un-showered, wearing your husband’s sweatpants and reeking of coffee breath, you see everyone in your rolodex! Every stinkin time!
Today was a “tweener”. Showered and in my own clothes, I kept my head down and focused on the chicken aisle hoping not to run into someone I know .
A quick glance at my choices, I grabbed the closest package with 3 pieces in it.
Not typically price conscious, I think most of us are paying a little more attention to what the tags say lately. Could it be 3 pieces of chicken costs almost 10 bucks these days? I checked the price per pound; $6.37… for chicken!!!
Free range (whatever that is) was my first thought.
Organic perhaps?
Nah… this chicken is way better than that.
It’s smart.
It’s so smart, (read the small print) it has an MBA!
Did it graduate from the University of Tyson?
Does it know “why” it crossed the road?
Did it score a 36 on the ACT (Acclaimed Chicken Test)?
What makes it so smart?
I don’t know the answers to any of those questions.
I just know the dumbass chicken was $2.49 per pound.
That white chili was damn good.
And I’m feeling smarter already!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Eggplant, Aubergine and Barney
Have you seen it?
Do you own it?
Are you wearing it?
It’s everywhere!
The color purple.
I, as luck would have it, own lots of purple.
Jordan’s High School colors are Purple and Black.
Her club team, The Kansas City Twister’s, are Purple and White.
They are the same shade; call it “Barney Purple”.
Last Spring while having cocktails, (a Purple Passion perhaps), with a DonCaster consultant, she told me all the rage this year in clothing would be shades of purple.
I thought “Great… I’m set”.
And now apparently, everyone else is too.
Just watch the news.
If your friendly anchorman is not wearing some shade of purple tie today,
He most certainly will tomorrow.
I’ve become so obsessed with purple ties that now even Mike is saying “purple tie” when he spots one; it’s addicting!
Last night… I kid you not; Keith Olbermann took it to an extreme.
He had on an eggplant sport coat, a purple shirt AND a purple tie.
He was impassioned about something, but all I could hear spilling from his mouth was “I love you, you love me, we’re a happy family”.
And the ladies are in the game too.
Most often, they choose a lovely shade; aubergine I think, is beautiful.
But at least once a day, I see a female Barney on the tube too.
Enough with the purple already.
It’s bringing out the very worst of my O.C.D!!!
Do you own it?
Are you wearing it?
It’s everywhere!
The color purple.
I, as luck would have it, own lots of purple.
Jordan’s High School colors are Purple and Black.
Her club team, The Kansas City Twister’s, are Purple and White.
They are the same shade; call it “Barney Purple”.
Last Spring while having cocktails, (a Purple Passion perhaps), with a DonCaster consultant, she told me all the rage this year in clothing would be shades of purple.
I thought “Great… I’m set”.
And now apparently, everyone else is too.
Just watch the news.
If your friendly anchorman is not wearing some shade of purple tie today,
He most certainly will tomorrow.
I’ve become so obsessed with purple ties that now even Mike is saying “purple tie” when he spots one; it’s addicting!
Last night… I kid you not; Keith Olbermann took it to an extreme.
He had on an eggplant sport coat, a purple shirt AND a purple tie.
He was impassioned about something, but all I could hear spilling from his mouth was “I love you, you love me, we’re a happy family”.
And the ladies are in the game too.
Most often, they choose a lovely shade; aubergine I think, is beautiful.
But at least once a day, I see a female Barney on the tube too.
Enough with the purple already.
It’s bringing out the very worst of my O.C.D!!!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
A Disgrace to my Heritage…
I just made a pound cake; the mix came from a box.
My first conundrum arose when the ingredients for me to add were a “choice”; add milk OR water.
For God’s sakes, don’t screw with me, just tell me!
“Mo”, (eenie, meenie, miney, mo…) landed on milk, so that’s what I went with.
Two eggs later, a quick couple of minutes with the electric beater and voila’, my culinary masterpiece was ready for the hot oven.
Unfortunately though, when I went to put it in… my heart sunk. I’d never turned the oven on to warm it up! But what’s another 10 or 15 minute delay when the result will be pure buttery goodness with a hot cup of Joe.
Cooking time said “48 to 52 minutes”.
I was using a glass pan and could swear from past experience (and I use the term loosely) that glass meant lower temp. But in my defense, no where did that bitch Betty mention that on the box!
So into a 350 degree oven it went, and I set the timer for a mere 45 minutes.
You know me… always playing it safe!!!
Ok, in the spirit of full disclosure, there was one other tiny mishap.
I’ve blogged here before regarding my limited attention span.
About an hour after turning the oven on, I wondered why it kept “clicking”. Only then did I realize I’d forgotten to put the cake in. By this time the batter had (oddly) risen to about twice its original depth. This was my first inkling that maybe I should have gone with the water. Who knows?
WHO KNOWS???
I’ll tell you who knows… my Papa!!!
Francis Duddy owned and operated “Duddy’s Bakery” in Queens New York, from before my mother, her 6 sister’s and one brother were born, to not long before he died in the late 60’s.
From Grandma and Papa Duddy, I get my 50% Irish blood.
Duddy’s Bakery, the story is told (backed up by a torn and yellowed old newspaper article including a picture), used to have customers lined up around the block for one of their famous pies.
They offered all the goodies any bakery would, but Pies is what they were famous for.
I have never made a pie.
My 50% German veins also have incredible Baker knowledge and experience flowing through them.
My Oma, who baked the best damn Apfelkuchen and German Butter Cookies in the whole entire world…, is probably turning in her grave this morning at my lame attempt to bake!
From a BOX, no less!
To make a long and personally painful story short… yes, I burned it.
And then yes, I tried to salvage it by cutting the burnt ends, sides and bottom off.
Even then, it tasted somewhat like I would imagine a sponge to taste.
A clean one!
But in the end, I called it for what it was…
A complete and utter failure, as well as a disgrace to my family heritage.
I’ve still got my stinkin sweet-tooth, so I’m going out for a Ding-Dong now.
Sorry Oma and Papa.
But if it’s any consolation to you, your great-granddaughter is an awesome Baker… both kinds!
My first conundrum arose when the ingredients for me to add were a “choice”; add milk OR water.
For God’s sakes, don’t screw with me, just tell me!
“Mo”, (eenie, meenie, miney, mo…) landed on milk, so that’s what I went with.
Two eggs later, a quick couple of minutes with the electric beater and voila’, my culinary masterpiece was ready for the hot oven.
Unfortunately though, when I went to put it in… my heart sunk. I’d never turned the oven on to warm it up! But what’s another 10 or 15 minute delay when the result will be pure buttery goodness with a hot cup of Joe.
Cooking time said “48 to 52 minutes”.
I was using a glass pan and could swear from past experience (and I use the term loosely) that glass meant lower temp. But in my defense, no where did that bitch Betty mention that on the box!
So into a 350 degree oven it went, and I set the timer for a mere 45 minutes.
You know me… always playing it safe!!!
Ok, in the spirit of full disclosure, there was one other tiny mishap.
I’ve blogged here before regarding my limited attention span.
About an hour after turning the oven on, I wondered why it kept “clicking”. Only then did I realize I’d forgotten to put the cake in. By this time the batter had (oddly) risen to about twice its original depth. This was my first inkling that maybe I should have gone with the water. Who knows?
WHO KNOWS???
I’ll tell you who knows… my Papa!!!
Francis Duddy owned and operated “Duddy’s Bakery” in Queens New York, from before my mother, her 6 sister’s and one brother were born, to not long before he died in the late 60’s.
From Grandma and Papa Duddy, I get my 50% Irish blood.
Duddy’s Bakery, the story is told (backed up by a torn and yellowed old newspaper article including a picture), used to have customers lined up around the block for one of their famous pies.
They offered all the goodies any bakery would, but Pies is what they were famous for.
I have never made a pie.
My 50% German veins also have incredible Baker knowledge and experience flowing through them.
My Oma, who baked the best damn Apfelkuchen and German Butter Cookies in the whole entire world…, is probably turning in her grave this morning at my lame attempt to bake!
From a BOX, no less!
To make a long and personally painful story short… yes, I burned it.
And then yes, I tried to salvage it by cutting the burnt ends, sides and bottom off.
Even then, it tasted somewhat like I would imagine a sponge to taste.
A clean one!
But in the end, I called it for what it was…
A complete and utter failure, as well as a disgrace to my family heritage.
I’ve still got my stinkin sweet-tooth, so I’m going out for a Ding-Dong now.
Sorry Oma and Papa.
But if it’s any consolation to you, your great-granddaughter is an awesome Baker… both kinds!
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